


Crema

by Beech27



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3249488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beech27/pseuds/Beech27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another night studying at the coffee bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crema

Asami approached the cafe, the usual assortment of would-be punks, hipsters, hippies, philosophers, musicians, poets, et cetera, smoking out front, legs crossed, dimly aware grins decorating their faces.

Walking past, she looked through the window, and saw her behind the counter. The barista - Korra, was her name - wore thin cut blue jeans, a tight navy blue v-neck, and heavy tan hiking boots. There was a crooked smile on her face, a gleam in the pools of her blue eyes. There was confidence in the way she stood, left leg cocked, like a conquering general, posing for a painting. Asami thought of Napoleon, how he appeared in paintings. She laughed. Korra wasn’t that much shorter than her, after all.

She refocused on the glass, adjusting her gaze to examine herself. Red sweater, a little high on the neck. Always red. Was it too much? Too redundant? Well, it was too late now. Red it was. And black jeans, with black boots. Black again? Again, too redundant? Red and black. It’s all she ever wore. Like a uniform. Maybe Korra thought it was boring. Maybe Korra didn’t notice. Both thoughts terrified Asami. But then, Korra did always wear blue. Asami always noticed, and never found it boring. Not at all.

A deep breath. She inhaled, looked at the sidewalk, and her feet, which should have been taking her to the door. But there was no movement. They were content to stand, to honor that swirling angst in her gut. And what of those boots? The toes looked pointy now, and the buckle lavish, perhaps a bit much.

Asami exhaled. It was 8 pm; she always visited around this time. She told herself that this was a day like any other, that some illusory corporate invention need not throw her. February 14? Screw it. Another spin of the planet. That’s it. She looked in the window again, saw that Korra was dusting grounds from a portafilter.

She slipped in through the curtain of smoke, slid to a table in the corner. She slung her bag to the floor, reached in and grabbed her assigned reading for the night, _Three Plays for Puritans_. George Bernard Shaw made for pretentious, acerbic company, however - didn't he always? - and was quickly retired back to the bag.

She groaned, sighed, and stood with enough force to knock her chair in to the person behind her. "Shit. Sorry."

Asami began to walk towards the counter, each footfall an imagined declaration of her nerves. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. A series of resonant thuds, a poem of romance and hate and feelings and society and… and... the words vanished.

Korra finished wiping the portafilter clean, shoved the towel in her back pocket. She looked the consummate grease monkey, only with coffee oil instead of motor oil. There was only counter space between them now, a half full tip jar and rice flour vegan brownies decorating the barricade. Korra leaned on that counter as she always did, turning her head slightly, her hips more. It was part performance, part welcome, but all… well, all something Asami couldn’t say, not even to herself.

"Hi," she managed.

"Asami," Korra nodded. "No plans tonight? Thought maybe I wouldn’t see you.”

And there it was. Straight to the point. She could say it now, ask away; Korra had opened the door, she need only walk through it. It would just be good manners, really. She gestured to her bag, slumped against the table. "Just GBS and I."

"Kind of a dick, yeah?" Korra said. "Not really a pleasant date." She pushed back from the counter, turned with relish to the espresso grinder. “I’ve got something better for you.”

The whir and the click of the machine spoke to Asami, telling her that this was just another night, which she had known it was, had told herself it was, but still.

The near omnipresent sarcasm on Korra’s face vanished as she ground, brushed, tamped, twisted, brushed again, flicked. All earnest passion. She turned her head to Asami, as she lifted milk from the fridge, poured it in the pitcher.

"I've been working on something." Korra smiled. “For you.”

Quickly, she was back to work, locking the portafilter in the group head, and pulling two shots into a 12 ounce ceramic cup. Immediately, she lifted the pitcher of milk, and set to steaming, stretching, hissing, swirling; then cutting the air, pounding on the counter, and swirling again, by hand.

Asami’s concentration followed Korra’s, and she forgot her jitters. Then, she noted the irony in that, surrounded by caffeine delivery vessels.

"Okay," Korra said, exhaling sharply. "Let's see if I can get this. You know how I can do a pretty damn good rosetta? And at least two decent ones, in the same cup? Well I actually never learned this other thing first, which most people do. But, uh, I’ve been practicing. For… reasons. Thought maybe I’d attempt my first public demo for you... today."

Korra poured more quickly than usual, and with less flicking from side to side. She struck through the middle at finish, exhaled again. "Okay. Wow. That sucks."

Asami laughed. "Let me see."

Korra held the drink. Paused. Then moved towards the sink.

"Oh, stop,” Asami interrupted. “Don’t waste it. What did you try, a polar bear or something? I saw that online once."

"Rate my rosetta?"

"What? Oh, the blog. I mean, maybe. I google latte art sometimes."

"Well… you won’t be seeing this online. People don’t usually post pictures of amorphous foam blobs."

Korra walked to the counter, blushing bright, and set the mug down. The crema set a deep bronze perimeter around what might, from just the right angle, have been a heart. It looked like a mess, truthfully. But god, it was beautiful anyway.

"So it's… ?" Asami asked, smiling now, knowing. The latte drowned the butterflies in her stomach, and she was buzzing, warm, all before so much as sipping it.

"It's free, for one," Korra said, pulling a handful of coins from her tip jar, counting them, then grabbing a couple more. "It's also better tasting than a rose, and a much less cliche way to ask you on a date."

**Author's Note:**

> I was prompted to write a brief coffee shop romance by this bit of art that's making the rounds:  
> http://annadeef.tumblr.com/post/109235895492/asami-is-hella-homo-for-barista-korra 
> 
> This is the - way, way too early - little Valentine's Day one shot that resulted. Written with permission. I did move the setting to more of an indy coffee shop, though, and used latte art as a narrative device, rather than the cup itself. I was a barista for longer than I'm willing to confess here, so I wanted to geek a little about the mechanics involved in drink preparation, and indulge my inner hipster. (I can still do a double rosetta myself. Not sure if that's bragging...) I also wanted to write something a little fluffy, as a two hour break from my usual angst/drama stuff. Thanks for reading.


End file.
